Skyrim: Tales of the Blades
by Edward Anthony Ferris
Summary: Bardon of Anvil, having traveled to Skyrim and become a newly Knighted Blade, has been assigned to assist the Dragonborn (a Breton woman on the side of the Empire) in a task, briefed only with a location and a fellow Blade companion, the Khajiit, Kharjo. Mystery surrounds their expedition, leading to a startling conclusion at Ancient's Ascent...Contains Violence.
1. The First Assignment

17th, Frostfall, 202nd year of the Fourth Era.

Sky Haven Temple.

"And you shall be known henceforth, Bardon of Anvil, as a Knight Brother in the Order of the Blades, protectors of the Emperors."

I bowed by head, arms outstretched, palms facing the vaulted ceiling of Sky Haven Temple, awaiting the highest honor to be bestowed upon me. The Grandmaster, Delphine, a woman hailing from High Rock, took a step forward, laying a long, thin object across my plated gauntlets. This, I knew, was my Akaviri Katana, my proof of entry into the service of the legendary Blades. I had worked very hard, for a very long time, for this precise moment. Ten years I'd proven myself among the warriors of Cyrodiil, dueling in the famed Arena, serving the Fighter's and Mage's Guilds, eventually traveling North to meet the Dragonborn, the Hero of the Empire, and from there, gain entrance to the Blades. Though I failed in my attempt to meet the Dragonborn, I had succeeded in gaining the attention of the Blades, with no assistance from anyone other than myself, and the Divines.

I had earned this moment.

"Rise, brother, and meet the new day."

I stood, my plate armor clinking as I did so. The Archivist, Esbern, waved his hand, and the many wall mounted torches illuminated the grand chamber in a warm, flickering glow. Applause broke from Delphine, Esbern, and the ten others gathered around me in a half circle, welcoming me among the finest men and women in all of Tamriel. I nodded, my primary focus set to scanning the area for the Dovahkiin, the ones we as Blades served. It was she, the "greatest dragon-slayer" that the Blades must protect, guide, and serve, along with the Emperor. It only made sense to me that the Dragonborn should be present at the induction ceremony of one of her personal guard. It also, to me at least, seemed to be the only logical path for the Dragonborn to become Empress, as Saint Alessia had in the First Era. The Dovahkiin had ruled over Tamriel for three Eras, ending with the death of Martin Septim. Now that Akatosh had blessed a mortal with the soul of the dragon, she should take her rightful place as leader of the known world.

"Bardon," a voice called from behind me, shaking me from my thoughts, "Come and have a word with me." The voice belonged to Esbern, who was beckoning me towards him, away from the others enjoying both food and ale.

"Yes, sir." I followed the elder Nord into a room off the left of the main entrance, belting my new sword as I went.

We stopped as a pair inside the equipment room, closing the heavy wooden door behind us. Esbern pierced the darkness with a simple Candlelight spell, the white orb clinging to the wall above his head. "Bardon, my boy," he placed a withered hand on my shoulder, "You have finally become a Blade. I'm proud of you, though I now must ask a task of you that is both highly dangerous, and secretive."

I forced the questions from my mind. "Thank you, Esbern. I will undertake any assignment set before me."

His face remained impassive, no doubt considering my words. "Good, good. Your prowess as a battlemage has earned you this mission, one which would normally be assigned to only the most senior of Blades. Prove yourself, and you will be rewarded with an advancement in rank."

"I understand. What must I do?"

Esbern ran a hand over his face, lined with age and marked with a grey beard. "You will work directly with the Dragonborn. She has requested the assistance of the Blades, and I have chosen you and one other. She did not give clear details of her expedition, other than whoever I sent, would need to be both intelligent, and a great warrior. Your companion, having already been briefed, will be Kharjo."

Kharjo was a Khajiit male, previously serving as both the Dragonborn's mercenary, and as a hired guard for the caravans. "I would be proud to serve alongside him. Where shall we go?"

Esbern nodded to the rough-sawn table, where a map of Skyrim was laid out. He pointed to the forests east of Falkreath. "Here, Ancient's Ascent. This is where she said she was heading. However, you must meet her in Falkreath proper, at the Jarl's Longhouse. The Ascent is two day's ride from the town, so you will need fresh horses once you arrive there. Gather your things, and leave as soon as both you and Kharjo are ready."

I nodded, hiding the building elation at being selected for such a mission. "Yes, Esbern."

..

27th, Frostfall, 202nd year of the Fourth Era.

Cracked Tusk Keep, Skyrim, Falkreath Hold.

It had taken us three days less than we'd originally calculated to make the trek from Sky Haven Temple to Falkreath, due to fair weather and our stroke of luck in obtaining fresh horses from Rorikstead. Kharjo proved to be an intelligent and insightful companion, educating me on the lore of Skyrim, and of his home province of Elsweyr. Having once traveled with the Dovahkiin, he was also able to give me an anecdote of her life, upon which now I reflected.

_"She is a remarkable woman," he informed me upon stopping for the night at Sunderstone Gorge, "For a human, that is."_

_ "What makes her so impressive, other than her obvious gift from Akatosh?" I asked, curious to know as much as possible before meeting her._

_ Kharjo banked the fire, laying flat on his bedroll. "Before she came to Skyrim, in her days as both a cub, and a youth huntress, she served the Dark Brotherhood. Not willingly, no, she was forced into service by a man named Festus Krex. She broke free of her service, traveling to Hammerfell. There, she was trained by a mentor in the arts of the warrior. Five years later, she arrived here in Skyrim. The rest of the story, her defeating the Stormcloak rebellion, slaying Alduin, reforming the Blades, stopping the Vampire menace from blocking out the sun, the extermination of the Dark Brotherhood, is all common knowledge."_

_ I listened, filled with both wonder, and unease. The idea of the great Hero being raised by the most feared group of murderers was unsettling, though she _had _forsaken that life, and become an icon of hope for the people of the Empire. I had fallen asleep, dreams of meeting the Dragonborn filling the night._

_The next morning, we rode on, both eager to reach our destination._

Now, days later, the pair of us sat around a small fire, Kharjo rotating a chunk of venison from a deer I'd hunted that evening over the glowing bed of coals. I took a drink from my waterskin before saying, "If we ride hard, we can make Falkreath tomorrow."

Kharjo nodded, biting at the cooked deer with primitive conviction, like a wolf or a sabrecat. I unbelted my sword, lying it on the stone floor beside me. Rolling my bedding out, I began to remove my armor, starting with my boots. Kharjo had already done this, now relaxing on his bedspread, writing in his leather-bound journal as he had every night since leaving Sky Haven Temple. I paid him no mind, leaving him to his work, instead struggling to wriggle free of my upper armor. I gave one final jerk of my torso, and I was free, allowing the metal to clang loudly to the floor. "Damned plate steel, always difficult to take off."

Kharjo nodded, still writing rapidly, "That is why I always preferred light armor. It allows me to move-''

A sharp hiss cut him off, followed by familiar the snap-crack of an arrow shattering upon stone. Kharjo rolled from his bed with such speed I barely followed him, my body instinctually moving to the wall for cover. I ducked my head as a dozen more arrows pelted the keep, bouncing harmlessly off its ancient walls. Kharjo's furry hand seized my arm, and I wheeled around to face him. He was holding my shield and sword, his mace already in hand. I nodded, buckling my shield to my left arm. "Can you see them?" he whispered, his tail slowly swaying behind him.

Having been staring at the fire for hours on end, my night vision was entirely gone. An entire herd of mammoths could have been standing inside the camp, or around the exterior, and I would have been none the wiser. From the position of our particular tower, seated at the corner of the square fort, we were vulnerable to all sides. _A poor location to camp,_ I thought to myself.

"No, I can't see anything."

Kharjo swore, shuffling behind me. I heard the hiss of water hitting the fire, and the flickering light went out instantly. "Now they cannot see us, either," he explained, "Can you cast a spell for us to see them?"

I nodded, and placed my katana on the floor, preparing to summon the magic before a thought occurred to me. "Kharjo," I said, trying to hide the impatience I was feeling, "You're a Khajiit, you have natural night vision."

His voice was toneless, clearly taking this as an unintentional insult, "My eyes have yet to adjust as well, cast the spell."

I shrugged, and brought the Alteration power to my fingertips, releasing a sphere of white light out over the keep. The orb hung fifty feet from the ground, illuminating the entire expanse. Ten shapes, men by the looks of them, darted in various directions, seeking a hiding place among the shadows. The light went out, plunging us into darkness once more.

"We need something more permanent," Kharjo snarled, "Can you set fire to the palisade gates and watch towers from here? It would provide more than enough light."

"Yes," I whispered back, summoning the Destruction spell required, "And once its lit, then what?"

"We charge them _before _you light it, catching them unawares. Like a ghost in the night."

I nodded pointlessly, forgetting he couldn't see me. He touched me on the shoulder, and I rose to a half crouch, my sword and shield both in my left hand. Kharjo followed, both of us creeping down the ramp formed of rubble that would lead down into the camp. Pebbles crunched under my wool socks, stabbing at my feet. I ignored the pain, the keep's main yard only yards away.

"Now!" my companion hissed.

I loosed an Immolation spell at both the front, and west gates, flames splashing off the aged wood and igniting the towers simultaneously. Orange light poured into the fort, revealing the positions of the ten armor clad prowlers. Kharjo roared defiantly, his shield held from chin to hip, mace high overhead. I followed behind him, lifting my own shield to block an arrow as I ran. Two men, Orcs by the looks of them, pounded towards me, bare headed and matching Kharjo's challenging call. The lead Orc swung a warhammer at my skull, which I absorbed with my shield and sidestepped out of his path. The Orc that followed carried a single war axe, chopping violently at every inch of me he could reach. I parried one strike, then another, all the while blocking a second hammerblow from the lead Orc. I tried to control my breathing, and my nervousness at being unprotected without armor. From behind me, I heard a reverberating gong-like echo of metal on metal, and Kharjo cry out in triumph.

I deflected another slash from the axe-Orc, countering with a quick flick of my wrist, dragging the tip of the Akaviri longsword across his throat. The assailant collapsed, choking and gurgling. The lead Orc faltered upon seeing my display of swordsmanship, and I seized the moment to bash him in the face with the rim of my shield, spraying blood and teeth in all directions. I finished him off by running him through, the thin blade impaling him all the way down to the crossguard before kicking him roughly off my sword. On the roof of the main structure, two archers took aim on me, seeing a chance to take me unawares. I fired a bolt of Chain lightning their way, striking both in turn. They fell screaming, no doubt cooked in their armor, to the ground below, and lay still.

I dared a glance in Kharjo's direction, easily located by the mix of howls and thunderous booms of his mace striking home on his attackers. He danced around swords and axes alike, his feline agility unmatched by the men around him. Two lay dead at his feet, and the two still standing seemed hesitant to engage him. Kharjo leapt high into the air, batting a blade aside with his shield, and brought the Ebony mace down squarely on the nose of one man, his face detonating into a crimson mist and his legs failing to keep him upright. The last man bolted, sprinting in the opposite direction. Kharjo's speed was far greater, and he caught him, finishing him despite his pleas with a heavy blow to the head.

_Two left,_ I thought, returning to my own conflict.

I scanned the area. There didn't seem to be any left, though I was positive I had counted ten.

A slight shuffle behind me caused me to whip around, raising my shield. I delfected the strike just in time, backpedaling to gain a visual on my would-be murderer. A thin man in leather armor held a naked longsword at his waist, his face white as the snow of High Hrothgar. His arms were bare, the leather cut away, revealing blue ink tattooed in strange patterns that disappeared into the leather.

He charged me with what appeared to be reckless abandon, no technique in his fencing. I ducked a sloppy attempt to behead me, kicking the man in the chest and pummeling him to the ground with my shield. His sword fell from his hand, and I kicked it by mistake. I could feel at least one of my toes part with my foot. Despite the agonizing pain, I drove my blade through my opponent's chest, and his breath rushed out in a final gasp.

Kharjo howled into the night, and I turned to find him, expecting to see him injured. He stood with his left foot on the chest of a man identical to the one I had just slain, blood streaming from his head, which now appeared to have been crushed flat. Kharjo stepped off the body, slowly making his way towards me.

My adrenaline was still pumping too hard to focus on the pain in my foot, but my mind was clear. "Who in the hell were they?" I asked, my breath coming in deep heaves.

"I would say bandits, well equipped bandits. Though this man," he pointed to my last kill, "And him," he pointed to the man with the squashed skull, "Were necromancers. They do not usually travel alongside common highwaymen."

"Necromancers," I restated, wanting for him to be certain, "But they did not summon the dead to fight for them, as those kind usually do."

Kharjo shrugged, "I know the tattooing, I have seen it before. We should ask the Dragonborn when we reach Falkreath. Come here," he offered his arm, "I shall help you back to the tower. We will sleep in watches after you heal your foot."

I didn't respond, grateful for his help.

An hour later, having healed and replaced my missing toes with a complex spell, putting out the fires with Frostbite, and taken over the first watch, a question burned into my mind.

_I've encountered bandits many times, in both Cyrodiil and Skyrim. But these men were clad in steel armor, and of fine make too. And what of the Necromancers? It was unusual, to say the least. I can't help feeling like this was an organized group of men, more than common raiders. They attacked from two angles, dividing our forces successfully despite still being outmatched. They had archers on the roof of the barracks, poised to attack from up high. And then the necromancers, not conjuring the dead to aid them for some reason, jumped us from behind. _

I sighed, peeling a stick of meat from the remaining venison. _Perhaps I can get more answers tomorrow, in daylight, or when reach Falkreath._

..

..

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	2. The Most Powerful Being in Tamriel

_28__th__, Frostfall, 202__nd__ Year of the Fourth Era_

_Outside Falkreath Proper_

Despite what my companion said on the subject, I couldn't let the strange manner of last night's attack out of my mind.

"You worry yourself far too much," Kharjo implored, waving a furry hand at me, "Take your mind to warmer sands, no?"

I grunted, my mind unable to wrap around the fight. I'd been all over Cyrodiil, I'd fought a lot of crazy fights. I'd been pitted against goblins, wrestled dremora and tore their hearts out, and even once slain a dozen vampires that were attacking a small village south of Chorrol, yet I'd never seen or heard of Necromancers teaming up with common raiders (not without substantial gain, which there was none to be had) and abandoning their research for petty plundering. And, to top it off, they'd attacked with swords, not their infamous black arts. Kharjo, so I'd noticed, was not so unintelligent to have ignored such anomalies. On the contrary, he was very smart, and tactically sound in his teachings. He, even before me, should have noticed such a strange occurrence. Yet he'd remained with his theory that, "We are in Skyrim, and the cold weather makes the people mad. I would not lose any fur over it."

I'd given up trying to discuss it with him, as I always got some dodgy answer. Now that we were closing in on the main town in Falkreath Hold, I believed he was holding something out on me. Though, had he a secret of his own on this already secretive mission, I doubted I'd ever learn it, and gave up on it.

I thumbed the wire wrapped hilt of the Akiviri Longsword, my mind now on meeting the Dragonborn.

"So what do you think this whole mission's about?" I asked, trying to spark conversation.

Kharjo shrugged. "When I traveled with the Dovahkiin, we ventured down into the deepest Dwemer ruins, battling dark creatures of all sorts. Other times, we would scale a mountain so high that the air was thin, and my whiskers could no longer touch the wind. And yet, at other times, I merely assisted her with her magical research. It is hard telling what she has planned for us, only be certain that it is important."

I nodded, imagining all the adventures Kharjo had been on, the horrors he must've seen. I looked around at the frost covered landscape, at the unfamiliarity of the terrain. The Nords, famous warriors in their own right, had been the first to settle in Tamriel. During the Stormcloak Rebellion, a time when Ulfric Stormcloak perverted the words of Talos to fuel a campaign for the crown, the Dovahkiiin had sided instead with the Empire, under Titus Mede. That was a year ago, maybe a bit more. Since, the Holds had lessened their defiance to the Empire a great deal, more so since the sudden spur of assassinations within the Thalmor. The High Elves suspected the Empire, obviously, but they didn't attack us directly. Rumor among the soldiers was that the Aldmeri Dominion refused to engage in outright war with the Empire because they knew that some dragons still roamed freely, and that they answered to the Dovahkiin. Personally, I didn't want to believe that the Dragonborn would make an alliance with dragons of any kind, as she'd slain well over fifty. As a Blade, I knew she had. The leader of the Greybeards, the masters of the Voice, was a dragon himself. Paarthurnax had been Alduin's brother, and had defected, since renouncing his terrorist ways against the inhabitants of Skyrim. A few dragons, mostly the older, wiser ones, had taken a leaf out of his book after the Dovahkiin slew Adluin the World Eater in Sovngarde, clearly observing that their measly half dozen was not enough to best the Dragonborn. Those dragons, Paarthurnax exluded, flew far, far away from society, probably into hiding on the mountainous islands in the frozen north. Though, even after the Civil War, and the Dragon Crisis, and even the crazed events that took place with the Dawnguard, dragons still roamed Skyrim.

I'd even heard that nests had been found in High Rock, the Breton homeland. We, as Blades, had yet to be dispatched there, though we would soon be doing just that, I was sure. And not long after we began hunting dragons in other provinces, we'd be asked to leave Sky Haven Temple, and go to the traditional Blades fort in Cyrodiil, Cloud Ruler Temple. Though, in my eyes, until the Emperor banished the Thalmor, I refused to protect him unless directly ordered by the Dragonborn. My goal was to serve the Dragonborn, and eradicate the dragon menace.

"Bardon," Kharjo called, shaking my train of thought, "We're here. Let us stop the horses, and change out of our armor. We are supposed to be in stealth, no?"

I nodded, pulling my horse off the trail. Falkreath proper was a log-house kind of town, with a palisade wall that bordered it in. The Hold's lower class income came from the selling of furs and lumber, as miles of dense forest littered with deer and bear occupied the entire Hold. Kharjo and I kicked out of our armor, storing it in pieces in the saddlebags. Wearing just cloth trousers and a roughspun tunic, I gratefully caught the fine linens that the Khajiit threw to me, along with a green hooded cloak.

"We must remain anonymous," he explained, "We shall pose as hunters, coming to Falkreath in search of furs."

I nodded, pulling on the fine boots. "What names will we be using while we're in town?"

Kharjo shrugged, "I will be Arumah Sandstrider. You can choose your own, and I shall remember it when you introduce yourself to the guards."

I grunted, wishing I had a preset name. I was terrible with names. I mounted the bay, spurring it towards the closed front gate. Kharjo followed close behind, his hood not yet covering his face. I scratched my thin beard, nervous that the guards would not believe our story, solid as it was. Since the War, Hold soldiers had been simply sworn into the Empire. Those who refused to join, were stripped of their shields and replaced with Imperial troops. Most of the guards were still Nords, those who the Empire deemed loyal enough to serve, and still had a profound dislike of anyone who was of elven descent. They weren't fond of Khajiits or Argonians either.

As we drew nearer to the gate, one guard lazily pushed himself off the side of the palisade, and approached us, leaving his warm fire behind.

"Hold there, in the name of the Jarl."

I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn't notice. They were supposed to say, "In the name of the Empire."

The guard loosened his sword in its sheath, and stopped in front of us. In the pair of towers flanking the gate, the archers drew back slightly, ready to strike. _They seem as nervous as I am._

"State your names and business here in Falkreath."

I spoke first, knowing it would look better if I appeared above Kharjo, simultaneously wrestling my nerves. "I am Porlich of Winterhold, hunter and trader. This," I motioned to Kharjo, "Is my hired guard."

Kharjo made a rumble in his chest, like a mix between a purr and a hiss, "Arumah Sandstrider, mercenary and caravan guard."

The guard nodded, grunting his approval. "And your business would be?"

"We're here to set up for a few weeks, set about hunting furs, with the Jarl's permission, of course."

The guard stared at me through his helmet, his eyes masked. "And that's all you want?"

I sighed, allowing my travel worn weariness to show, "No, not all. I suppose we _do_ plan on buying fresh supplies, probably going to grab a brew tonight."

The guard pointed at the saddlebags, "What's in here?"

I shrugged, appearing as casual as I could, "Armor. It's a tough road, what with Stormcloak rogues and bandits alike. It's old, family heirloom armor. Feel free to look it over yourself, sir."

The guard snorted, and opened the saddlebags. Flexing my hand, I muttered the incantation for a mid-power Charm spell. The guard bolted upright. "That is nice armor, I must say. Alright," he waved at the door guards, "You're free to go. You have a nice evening."

I nodded to the guard, and spurred my horse through the now opened doors. As soon as we passed the blacksmith, Kharjo growled. "What in Oblivion was that? I'm your _hired guard_?"

"It seemed like it would fit," I hissed back, "Nords are racist, you know that."

Kharjo leaned back on the reins, pulling his horse to a halt in front of the Inn. I stepped out of the saddle, by boots striking the frozen dirt road. A young boy, maybe twelve, stepped off the porch and took our reins. I flipped him a septim, "I'll give you five more of those if you bring them back at first light."

The boy nodded, a smile on his face.

I pulled my hood up, and the pair of us stepped inside.

The inn was warm and well light by a large fire in the stone fireplace. A dozen others were at the bar, while about the same amount was enjoying delicious looking meals at the various tables. Kharjo followed me up to the last empty space at the bar, and I nodded to the keep. "I'll have Black Briar mead, please."

The bartender raised his eyebrows. Black Briar was expensive.

"Colovian Brandy, if you'd please," Kharjo put in, sliding a few coins out onto the bartop.

The man brought us our drinks, which we sipped.

Kharjo leaned close to me, "Pull down your hood. You look like a thief or a murderer. And I will get us our room, while you mingle with the others, no?"

I shot him a look, "Why would I socialize? We're only here for the night."

Kharjo's whiskers flicked, a sign of impatience, "You have a name to keep, Porlich of Winterhold. You are a hunter; it would be strange if you didn't ask the locals about their recent success."

I raised an eyebrow, "You think the guards will ask these people about us?"

He nodded, and sipped his brandy. "I know they will. I've been around this country long enough to know for sure."

I grunted, and took a sip of my own drink, savoring the bittersweet foam on the top. While Kharjo got us a room, two beds to avoid suspicion of being strange, I began asking the various locals about the success of their recent hunting ventures. The work was dull, boring, and repetitive. I loved to hunt, personally, but the entire evening was unproductive. Instead of hearing how they've fared, I listened to two drunk Nords talk about how they stalked a hundred deer at once, only to have it scared away by a dragon. While I, one tasked with hunting dragons, would have been informed if one had been sighted in this area, I put on a smile and nodded until Kharjo informed me that we could now retire for the evening.

I nodded to him, grateful he saved me from "A thousand great hunts by Ulrich the Red".

...

...

Kharjo and I were grateful for beds, and more so the ability to sleep separately (having been within a foot of one another for the past two weeks).

I could hardly sleep, my mind racing over what the common people knew of who I'd be meeting tomorrow.

The Dragonborn was a Breton woman in her mid twenties. She'd come from parts unknown and been caught by the Empire, and charged alongside Ulfric Stormcloak. Upon her beheading, the dragon Alduin tore Helgen apart. Upon following Ulfric and one of his men out of the city, she vanished, appearing alongside Imperial Legion forces in various corners of Skyrim. The only reasoning anyone had ever heard for her siding with the Empire, was a statement she made in Solitude, to a bard. She'd said, "Why the Empire? Because the Empire's worth saving, and I've seen the glory-obsessed madness in Ulfric's eyes." From there, she'd vanished again, reappearing occasionally to assist the Empire in skirmishes against the Stormcloaks, and then once again at the final Battle of Windhelm. After that, she took the fight to the dragons. Stories vary from there as to how many she killed. If you traveled to Whiterun, where she was idolized, then she killed over fifty. If you head to Stormcloak friendly areas, such as Windhelm, then her numbers were greatly reduced, no doubt out of spite. The fact that nobody could deny, was that she was the most powerful being in Tamriel, rivaled only in history by the other Heroes of the Eras. The Champion of Cyrodiil had been such an accomplished warrior, scholar, and magician, that he'd been strong enough to step into the gates of Oblivion, sack several dozen Sigil Towers, and walk out of the flames with impunity. The Aldmeri Dominion had even respected the Imperial man so much that they left his home in Skingrad and his tomb untouched.

And the bards of today were saying that the Dragonborn was even more powerful.

There were rumors, of course, that she had affiliation with the Thieves guild, and the Dark Brotherhood. Yet, she'd marched with the Imperial forces and destroyed the Sanctuary here in Falkreath. Either way, she had done much good for Skyrim, and for the Empire as a whole.

A crash downstairs shattered my train of thought, forcing me bolt upright.

Kharjo had leapt from his bed before I even threw my covers off. I grabbed my katana, forsaking my armor. "What is it, do you think?" Kharjo asked, his mace in hand.

I shrugged, another round of breaking glass echoing up the stairs followed by shouts, "I'm not sure. We should check it out."

Kharjo nodded, then put out a hand to stop me. "You cannot take your Akiviri Katana, Bardon. You are a hunter, you cannot wield a Blade's weapon."

I scowled, and tucked the sword under my sheets, grabbing my dagger instead.

The pair of us bolted down the short flight of wooden steps polished smooth by thousands of boots that stomped up and down them over the years, adrenaline already pumping through my body. I imagined bandits at first, until I heard the distinctive sound of someone using a Shock spell.

_Mages?_

We burst into the main hall, blades flashing.

The bartender lay dead, burn marks speckling his face and arms. _Lightning spell..._

In the center of the room, stood two High Elves, one in Thalmor robes and one in Elven armor. A glowing orb of light illuminated the room above the barkeep's head. I scanned the area, ensuring it was just us four.

"Ah," the Thalmor said smoothly, "I had hoped you would come to us," Kharjo doubled his grip on the mace, hissing, "Your journey here was for nothing, I'm afraid. I understand the road was a long one, but you've now intruded on Thalmor business, Blades."

Kharjo remained silent, his tail twitching slightly, preparing to pounce.

"We're here on official orders-"

"From the Dragonborn, yes," the soldier sneered, "Unfortunately the Dragonborn has overstepped her boundaries-"

The soldier stiffened, then collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut, an arrow with black feathers protruding from the back of his helm. The Thalmor spun, electricity balled in his open palms. Kharjo darted forward, light on his feet, and brought his mace down on the Thalmor's head with such force it didn't even slow, connecting with the floor hard enough to dent the wood. Gore sprayed and lingered like a cloud, which was plunged into darkness after the mage's light spell died with him.

I backed into the shadow of the corner, dagger held upside down, ready to kill whoever had fired the arrow.

My back hit the wall, and I crouched low, prepared to spring. Kharjo likewise retreated, making for the stairs.

The unmistakable bite of cold steel pressed against my throat, and a hand roughly peeled my head back.

"Don't move, Imperial."

A second hand slapped my dagger from my grip. From by the stairs, I heard Kharjo hiss, followed by a woman's voice, "Do not move, cat. I'll kill you where- Kharjo?"

The Khajiit's face twisted from rage to confusion, his ears perking. "Arianna?"

The woman chuckled, her voice smooth and calm. Her laughter was like the singing of the most beautiful of songbirds. "Well, I knew we had Blades here, but I had no idea it was you."

From behind me, a Candlelight spell hit the ceiling, revealing the layout of the room.

Kharjo was now separating from a hug with the woman, who was hooded and garbed in black leather armor that hugged her figure and captivated my attention. That is, until I noticed the three others wearing the same attire, who stepped from the shadows, where they'd blended in with absurd ease. I immediately was floored that four people could have entered the inn without either of us noticing.

_These are assassins...judging by their skill, I'd say Dark Brotherhood._

"Yes, we were sent here to meet with you, my companion and I." Kharjo did not seem nearly as nervous as I was.

_This woman, this assassin...she's the Dragonborn! But if she's working with the Dark Brotherhood..._

"You?" I barked, unable to contain myself. The assassin closest to me, an Argonian, lifted his dagger. "You're the dragonborn? The hero of the Empire, icon of the Blades? You're an assassin?"

The Dovahkiin, obviously named Arianna, sighed. "Perhaps we'd better have a talk."

She started up the stairs without invitation, sheathing a dagger at her waist as she did.

Kharjo followed, and the assassin behind me nudged me to do the same.

...

...

I sat on my bed, after having it searched and my sword removed by the Argonian, and listened while the Dragonborn spoke. She'd changed out of her leather armor, and into a fine tunic, her black hair falling over her shoulders with effortless grace.

"Okay, let's start from the top." She handed me a flagon of wine.

I accepted the drink, and took a generous sip before nodding. Kharjo took this time to clean his mace.

"I am Arianna Dovahkiin, yes that is my surname, as I don't have one. I am a Breton, and yes, I am an assassin. After I won the Civil War and put that tyrannical bastard Ulfric down, I realized that the only way to save the Empire I loved, was to remove our Thalmor friends. I joined the Companions in Whiterun, and became their Harbinger, after a time. They're, as you know, dedicated to being the appointed mercenaries of Skyrim, fighting bandits and creatures alike that the guards don't have time for. But with that power, I couldn't strike against the Thalmor. The Companions want no part of it. So, I moved on to the Mage's College, and after a short time, took the lead of Arch Mage. Even there, I encountered the Thalmor, who almost killed all of Tamriel. Yet even they wouldn't help me, for their desire to be isolated. I could not break that."

She took a sip of her own drink, smiling. "This is good," she said to Kharjo.

"Colovian." He replied, now wiping off his paws.

"Right, you always did like that. So, anyways, now I found myself in charge, and responsible, for both the Mages College and the Companions. It was a lot to handle, but I managed. Then, I assisted Delphine, and reformed the Blades, as you very well know. After that, I knew I had people who would willingly hunt the Thalmor with me, but Delphine said that you had to get a foothold in Skyrim first, before we could go hunt Altmer. So, she has you guys killing off dragons, the ones who survived _me_," she chuckled at an unknown joke, "After that, I decided I'd hunt them down on my own. I've got a house, you see, isolated in the wilderness. From there, I organize the factions I oversee, using a magical series of mirrors that allow me to contact them. That was how I heard of a boy trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood. I met him, took his contract, and then was abducted by the Brotherhood. After earning their trust, I soared through the ranks, becoming one of them. Now, I am their leader. To avoid suspicion, I slipped on an Imperial uniform after they raided our Sanctuary, and killed our brothers, playing as if I'd been one of the lone survivors of the raid. Using this position, I made powerful friends with the Thieves Guild, and did a few jobs for them. By doing that, I ended up killing their leader, an evil man, and was supposed to take over myself. However, I have no desire to steal from honest men, only politicians and nobles. So, I gave the position to a good friend of mine. Anyways, as being the Listener, I cannot appoint jobs on my own without the consent of the Night Mother. Wicked old bitch. However, she approves of my hunting the Thalmor, who are hunting us. So, I'd finally found the most talented killers in Tamirel, to help me save the Empire. And on top of that, I can rebuild the Thieves Guild under my own rules, and use them to cripple the Thalmor all the more."

I stared at her in awe for a long while. "Harbinger of the Companions...Arch Mage of the College of Winterhold...Member of the Thieves Guild...Listener for the Dark Brotherhood...Knight Sister in the Blades...Imperial Hero... You really are the most powerful being in Tamriel."

She laughed loudly at that. "Maybe, but I don't plan on keeping all of this. After I can select a new Listener, I will. And the same goes for the other factions. I've been with them but a year, and I'm already ready to retire. Eventually I plan on making for the throne, and at that point I will resign my commission as head of the various guilds. I cannot be Empress and all those things, right?"

I rubbed my temples, my head starting to ache. "Okay, I get it. You're amazing. But what does this have to do with our mission, milady?"

She smiled again, revealing her perfect teeth. "Didn't I just explain it? I'm hunting Thalmor. You just killed the two who we were hunting, and who incidentally were hunting you. They were from a larger party, protectors of a very influential ambassador to Skyrim. The Thalmor's way of making sure that the Emperor is doing his job here. Her name is Elenwen, and I planned on murdering her."

The Argonian's head jerked towards the door, and he loosened his dagger in its sheath. "Listener," he hissed, "We have guests down below."

Arianna didn't seem bothered. "Go check it out, but don't be seen. If it's a problem, deal with it. But please avoid bloodshed."

"Yes, Listener."

Arianna took another sip of the brandy. "So," she continued, "I plan that by killing Elenwen and leaving the mark of the Brotherhood on her corpse, the Dominion will be hesitant to make large moves in Skyrim. However," she held up a hand, "This does not concern the Blades, as your open involvement will mean that the Empire is sovereign again, and the Dominion will have reason to attack the Empire, and we cannot afford that. So, I must be cautious in who we pick off. And by this caution, we discovered what has led me to bring you two here."

She reached in her tunic, and withdrew a scroll. She unrolled it on the floor, and brought her Candlelight spell to reveal a sketch of a skeletal dragon.

"When we were tracking her, my assassins and I, we happened to stumble across this scroll. There was another, a spell, but we lost it. I'm not sure what her plans are, but we have to find out. If she's got some complex spell alongside that," she pointed to the skeleton dragon, "Then we could have a real problem. For all we know, she could be trying to bring back dragons as Alduin did, to cripple the Empire. That would, of course, give the Dominion reason to _defend_ us, and which case they'd take over. I can't say for sure, but either way I'm positive we'll be fighting a dragon tomorrow. That's why you'll be working alongside us."

I slowly nodded, the suspicious raid, the Thalmor's presence, the reason the guards seemed to search us so intently, all made sense. "We were attacked by raiders, but they were accompanied by necromancers who didn't summon the dead. Thalmor mercenaries?"

Arianna nodded. "Yes, they did a poor job. Those two men weren't even real mages," She pulled a dark cloak over her tunic, and smiled at me, "Get some sleep, Brothers, tomorrow we get to root out a conspiracy."

She left the room in a swish of dark fabric, and was gone. Her assassins followed, silent as ghosts.

I shot Kharjo a look of wonder. "Well, that was...mind blowing."

He shrugged, "She has that effect on most."

I grunted, withholding my comments, my mind racing about what could possibly happen when I awoke in a few hours.


End file.
